


Schmiedefeuer

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critical Role Spoilers, Gen, Pre-Stream (Critical Role), Spoilers, but we love him just the same, caleb's backstory, critical role season 2, he's a little fucked up you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: From a very young age, Caleb's had a spark.





	Schmiedefeuer

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this, expecting it to be short. I should really know better by now. Translations of Zemnian will be in the end notes.

From a very young age, Caleb’s had a spark.

He doesn’t know how to properly use it for a number of years; his sort of magic is learned, not spontaneous. It requires attention, direction, focus- but the  _ potential _ ...that he feels for years before he casts Dancing Lights for the first time. His parents are delighted; candles are expensive, after all, and he’s happy to have a way to help out. It’s the first spell of many that he learns, gobbling up books as quickly as he can get his hands on them, doing extra chores for neighbors, odd jobs,  _ anything,  _ if it will get him the coin to buy the paper and ink he needs to transcribe the spells he wants to learn.

When he’s chosen along with Eodwulf and Astrid to join the Academy, he’s beside himself with joy.  _ Finally _ , he’ll be able to learn the way he’s always wanted to, to bury himself in knowledge and stretch his abilities to see what he can really do. That first year is difficult in so many ways he hasn’t expected. The magic is actually the easiest part- easier by far than ignoring the snide comments of some of his classmates about his cheap robes, his accent, the almost-shoddy equipment bought with the scholarship money he’d received from the Empire to help fund his education. He’s upset about it at first, each comment digging at him like a splinter until Astrid tugs him aside and looks at him, her gaze intense as she pokes him hard in the chest. 

“ _ Sie definieren dich nicht, nur du definierst dich. _ You will outshine them all,  _ spatz _ , and leave them in the dust.”

He nods, takes her words to heart, and throws himself wholeheartedly into his studies. He excels, of course he does; he's always been bright, and this is no exception. His memory is far better than he'd realized, absorbing and holding lessons with ease, letting him go back in and search his memory as if flipping through a book, calling up the information he needs in an instant. For the first time since he started dabbling in the arcane, he feels challenged; he has to work at it, and he does,  _ so  _ hard, pushing himself to his limits. He thrives on it, so it’s pleasant but not really a surprise when he’s approached at the end of his first year- Eodwulf and Astrid, too- to go train with Mage Ikithon out in the country.

If he’d thought that first year was a trial, it was only because he hadn’t known any better. The first year had been difficult, but the training they receive under Trent-  _ that’s _ hard.

More nights than not Caleb falls asleep cold, hungry, in pain, or all three. More than once he passes out in a pile with Eodwulf and Astrid, huddled together for comfort as much as warmth, just to know there’s another living creature nearby that cares, that there’s a touch that won’t hurt.

Through it all, despite the hardship, the pain, and every obstacle Trent throws at them, Caleb can feel his spark, bright and getting brighter, deep within. It goes from the small flicker he knew up to a crackling blaze, its warmth and strength sustaining him when the three of them start to pull apart under the pressure Trent exerts. It’s always there at his fingertips, just waiting for him to call it out. The first time he kills, it soothes him late at night when he can’t stop shaking, ans lulls him to sleep.

They’re almost ready to graduate and he goes home to visit his parents He’s so proud of everything he’s accomplished, everything he’s become, and he can see they’re just as proud of him, their son, their little Glühwürmchen.

He hears them that night, and for the first time in years, he can feel himself grow cold in the wake of shame and disbelief. How could they? They’d always supported the Empire, but now... _ now… _

He goes back to the Academy for the final weeks prior to graduation, so in shock still that he doesn’t notice how withdrawn Eodwulf has become, or how icey Astrid’s gaze is. When they’re summoned by Trent with the news, they all know what must be done, and they leave immediately.

They reach Blumenthal late afternoon and go to Eodwulf’s house first, waiting outside as he strides in, not bothering to knock. They can see the bursts of light in the windows as Eodwulf’s lightning flashes inside, and before long he’s returned to their side, face pale but satisfied, and he nods. Trent claps him on the back, gives him a coveted ‘well done’, and they’re off to Astrid’s house.

Her parents are surprised and pleased to see her again so soon; they invite all of them in, happy to have them all for dinner, to get to meet Astrid’s illustrious teacher in person. They don’t make it to dessert before Astrid’s parents are facedown on the table, poisoned.

Caleb’s will flickers briefly, but he refuses to be diverted. Both his friends have done their duty- he won’t do any less

They arrive at his house and the others help him move his parents’ horse cart to block the door. He thinks of all the shame and disgust he’d felt on hearing their talk of an uprising, the rage he feels that they’d throw their lives away for  _ nothing _ , and lets it fuel his spark up into a roaring conflagration, aiming it at the wooden cart. The cart ignites with a whumpf of air, and as the flame shoots up, the thatch roof is quick to catch. Caleb takes a step back, the heat from the fire already blistering up close. The roof is mostly consumed by flame and the main structure is starting to burn when he hears something. He almost misses it over the deafening noise of the fire, but just underneath he can hear a higher pitched sound, and his blood freezes.

The sound is his parents. They’re screaming.

He wants to move, to  _ do  _ something, all his certainty that this was the correct course of action is suddenly gone, incinerated like the cart before him, and oh-  _ oh gods _ \- what has he  _ done _ ? His breath comes more quickly, he’s trying to drag air in but it feels like the fire is stealing it right out of his lungs. He can’t catch his breath, can’t focus; he’s losing his grip on the things around him, the high-pitched wails from inside the house taking up all his attention, joined by a choked whine he realizes is coming from his own throat.

His head rocks to the side, and oh, he thinks someone just slapped him, but he barely feels it. He shouldn’t have...how  _ could  _ he...how did he  _ ever let them  _ **_convince_ ** _ him to _ -

His thoughts circle in on themselves, spiraling tighter,  _ tighter _ ,  **_tighter_ ** , until all he hears is the rush of flames.

For a long time, that’s all he knows. There are things that must be happening around him,  _ to  _ him, but he has no awareness of it. When he senses anything at all, it’s the thunderous roar of fire filling his ears, consuming everything. At times he’s convinced it’s consuming him as well, wishes it would, but it never lasts.

He jolts back to awareness, someone’s hands on his face, fingertips pressed lightly to his temples, and the clouds of smoke and ash lift from his mind. He blinks, finds himself in an airy sun-drenched room with a small group of other people that are milling around. They’re wearing soft, simple clothes,  and he’s dressed the same. For the briefest second, he has no idea what’s happened. Then his last memories burst through the mental fog and they hit like a gut punch. He can’t breathe, the edge of madness beckoning again, but his time his mind holds, however much the memories hurt; and  _ gods _ , do they hurt.

He sits, breathes through it, and waits. Over the course of the afternoon, he figures out where he is; he’d had an idea after the first few moments, but the reaction when the woman who’d helped him starts screaming and clawing at her face confirms it. Orderlies rush out, firmly but gently restrain her, and a man in a white coat comes out and magically sedates her. He’s in an asylum.

A few days pass, and he tries not to let on that anything’s happened; he moves where the orderlies move him, eats what they feed him, and gathers as much information as he can. He doesn’t see the woman who helped him after that first afternoon, and he has a feeling it isn’t because she was suddenly cured. 

There’s an orderly who feels  _ wrong; _  he gives Caleb the creeps. The man hasn’t done anything to make him feel that way, but Caleb is convinced the man is watching him specifically. That might just be some lingering paranoia, but then again, maybe not.

Another week goes by, and by the end of it, he’s convinced. That orderly  _ is  _ watching him, more than the others do. It’s pure chance that gives Caleb the proof he’s been waiting on.

He’s alone with the orderly in the common room late one evening, the last patient to be shuffled off to his room for the night, when the other man stills, head tilting, and Caleb recognizes someone receiving a Sending spell when he sees it.

The orderly’s response is quiet, but so is the room, and Caleb can hear it, clear as day.

“Yeah, Ikithon, he’s same as always, no need to worry. And yeah, I’ve still got the necklace. Nobody’ll find me out. Same time next week.”

Caleb starts to shake, unable to help it. He’s going to give himself away, he knows he is, but he can’t make it stop. The orderly is working with Ikithon...with  _ Trent _ . Watching Caleb, to- to…

To what, exactly?

Probably to make sure he doesn’t come back to himself, is what. To make sure that what’s happened _doesn’t_ happen. Caleb’s mind starts to zip through possible modes of action, sifting through tactics almost faster than he can consciously think them. Trent is still out there, knows Caleb is here, and has someone watching to make sure he  _ stays  _ here. That of course means that this is the very last place Caleb should be.

Once that tidbit locks into place, the rest happens lightning quick. The orderly is approaching him, realizing something’s changed. The man barely gets a word out before Caleb’s eyes glance up, meeting the man’s gaze, and the magic he hasn’t felt stir in- well, he doesn’t really know how long- flares to life with a flick of his fingers, and when the man’s eyes meet Caleb’s, the man stops cold.

“I am  _ Charmed  _ to make your acquaintance.” 

Caleb’s voice is rough, he almost doesn’t get the words out. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in ages, but it’s enough. He can feel the spell snap into place as the man’s face goes soft, his mouth turning up in a pleasant smile. “And you as well, Mr. Widogast.”

Caleb licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry.

“Thank you. Could you please tell me how long I have been here?”

“I haven’t been here the whole time you have, but I think it’s around eleven years.”

Caleb has to grab onto a nearby chair as his legs threaten to give out. “El- eleven  _ years _ ?”

The orderly nods, face still pleasant. “Yup! We’ve been taking good care of you here. Keeping you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“Well-” the man shrugs, expression going sheepish. “More like keeping you safely hidden away, I guess. Can’t have you running around telling anyone what happened, now can we?”

Caleb runs a hand through his hair, still surprised at how long it is, even after the past few weeks. “No, no I suppose not.” Caleb thinks a moment, then looks closer at the orderly. “Your necklace is lovely. Tell me about it?”

“Oh, thank you! It’s an amulet, keeps me hidden from divination magic. Very handy.”

“Yes, I can see how it would be.” His eyes dart around the room, and Caleb steels himself as he sees what he wants. He knows his time is running out. Soon someone else will come by, and the spell will break, and the orderly will know what Caleb has done. But he can’t have that, because he’s got ideas now, can feel his brain coming up to speed. He wanders over to the heavy-looking vase, full of fresh-cut flowers, and lightly touches the petals with his fingertips. He takes the flowers out of the vase, setting them aside one-by-one ( _ one, two, three, four, five flowers _ ) and picks up the vase, hefting it in his hand. It’s just as heavy as it looks, and he nods to himself before wandering back over to the orderly who’s still smiling pleasantly at him.

“If you would please look over that way?”

The man turns obligingly, and Caleb gets a two-handed grip on the vase before bringing it down with all his strength on the back of the man’s head.

The vase makes a dull thud as it connects, and the man crumples to the ground, motionless, leaving Caleb standing over him with a now-bloodied vase. His hands are shaking again, but there’s not much he can do about that. He checks for a pulse, which he finds, though the man is out cold. He barely deliberates before setting the vase aside. Caleb reaches down, pinching the man’s nose shut with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. He holds tight, waiting. Eventually the man’s body stills, and Caleb waits another few precious seconds before releasing his hold on the man’s face. He checks again for a pulse, but finds nothing.

“Okay, okay, this is-” he swallows thickly, wipes his palms on his pants, and refuses to think too hard on what he’s just done. “This is- not great.” Caleb’s hand clench and unclench a few times, then he reaches down and carefully removes the necklace from the neck of the now-dead orderly. “You won’t be needing this anymore, but I do, so-  _ ja _ .” He slips the chain over his head, and stands up, looking around. He steals the man’s boots, and a coat he finds hanging on a hook by the main door as he sneaks out of the building, and then he’s gone into the cool evening air.

Over the following weeks he manages to steal the bits and bobs a traveler needs. He thinks from the weather it’s probably spring, still cool, but quickly warming, and unpleasantly wet. He never stays in one place too long, keeps moving; he trusts the necklace to keep him hidden, but he never feels safe. His magic is coming back in spurts as he gets the components. He’s lost some of the spells he used to be able to cast, it will take a while to relearn everything if he wants to. It takes him a week to be willing to start a fire with magic, and the resultant panic attack leaves him a sobbing wreck on the ground. After, he curses himself for a fool, but can’t deny how nice his campfire feels, nor how easily the spell had come back to him.

He casts Find Familiar for the first time a few months later. He’s always wanted to try it, even knew how, but Trent had been dismissive of familiars, calling them ‘unnecessary crutches’. Frumpkin crawls onto his lap purring up a storm, and headbutts Caleb’s forehead when he leans down; Caleb is utterly smitten. He holds Frumpkin close, and that night has the best sleep he’s had since he came back to himself in the asylum.

He's at the tail-end of a panic attack the first time he meets Nott a few years later; it's a less than auspicious start to their friendship. The guards in the small jail have quickly figured out that Caleb’s an easy target. They’re cruel and bored- a terrible combination in jailers- and take every opportunity to find new ways to torment him. That's not to say he doesn't deserve it; he deserves it all and worse, but it’s exhausting. He feels like he hasn't properly rested in weeks, and he doesn't dare summon Frumpkin for comfort. If they see Frumpkin they may kill him, and while Caleb knows he can bring him back, he doesn't have the components to do it.

This time the guards have crowded him back against a wall in his cell, waving lit torches at him until he’s a sniveling mess on the floor, begging them to stop. He hates himself for it, knows it only encourages them, but it's impossible  _ not _ to beg, not to hope they'll just leave him alone, if only for a few minutes. They back off, and he thinks maybe his begging actually worked, but they’re pulling back only to throw a small figure into the cell with him before slamming the barred door shut again.

“Is it safe to leave them together like that?”

“If not, we'll only have to deal with one of them in the morning.”

The guards move away, mercifully taking their torches with them, but leaving his new cellmate behind. He’s shaking, his breath still shuddering uncomfortably in and out of his lungs. He doesn’t realize how completely he’s lost track of his surroundings until he’s startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He jumps with a shout, and the small figure scrambles back against the barred door. The person he’d thought to be a halfling instead stares back with yellow eyes, green hair and skin mostly hidden by her hood. He’s so surprised to see a goblin that he doesn’t immediately react, just stares at her.

“Are- are you okay?” Her voice is rough and a little squeaky, but it’s also quiet and far kinder than anything else he’s heard recently. He can’t speak just yet, so he nods, curling in tighter on himself. He runs his fingers through his hair and clenches his hands, the sting of pulled hair helping to ground him in his body.

“Did they hurt you?”

He pauses, then shakes his head. They hadn't laid a hand on him this time.

There's quiet again, and he's just starting to relax when he hears her move. He tenses right back up and she clucks her tongue quietly as she comes close, sitting down near his head. A second later there’s the tentative touch of clawed fingers running through his hair. He’s at a complete loss- this is not how goblins act. They don’t ask if you’re okay, they don’t ask if someone’s hurt you, and they  _ certainly  _ don’t pet people in a surprisingly soothing manner.

“I’m Nott. Nott the Brave.”

His voice doesn’t work the first time, but he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m Caleb. Nice to meet you,  _ fräulein _ .”

The fingers in his hair pause before continuing. “I’m a goblin, not a ‘ _ fro lion _ ’, whatever that is.” Her voice is careful, like she’s waiting for him to say something about what she is, or leap away from her, but he stays right where he is. Of all the people he’s known in this place- himself included- she is by far the least monstrous.

They grow closer in the next few days, commiserating over the generally unpleasant environment. The guards return, and every time they come, Nott gets angrier and angrier. Caleb tries to calm her after, when he has the energy, but she refuses to be dissuaded.

“It’s not  _ fair  _ they keep doing this to you. You’re already in jail, for fuck’s sake. This is excessive and you know it.”

Caleb sighs, barely suppressing the cough he can feel trying to catch in his chest. “Life is not fair. Whether it is excessive or not is of no consequence. It is what it is.”

Nott grows quiet, and Caleb lets his eyes close, curling up in the corner of their cell. He can feel the beginnings of a fever, but he doesn’t say anything to Nott about it. There’s nothing she can do, and she’s already so angry. He doesn’t want her to do something stupid out of misplaced outrage; he’s not worth it.

An hour or so later, he’s shaken awake, and he has to take a moment to gain his bearings. Nott is peering at him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“ _ Was _ ? What is it, Nott?”

“We need to get out of here, and I think I have a plan.”

Nott explains, and he listens. It’s a pretty terrible plan, as far as plans go, but staying in the jail isn’t doing them any favors either. He knows if he doesn’t leave under his own power, he’ll die here, and her chances aren’t much better. Perhaps it’s better to die trying to escape than to stay and die at the hands of an over-enthusiastic guard. If nothing else it would be faster.

“ _ Ja _ , okay, I’m in.”

It shouldn’t work,  _ they  _ shouldn’t work, but somehow, they do. Not only do they escape, but they find all their confiscated things as well before they flee. Nott doesn’t say anything about the ragged sigh of relief from Caleb as he slides the amulet back over his head. The weight of it against his skin is comforting, and as they walk out of the front door of the now-burning jail, he breathes freely for the first time in weeks.

That’s not to say everything goes smoothly after that. The cough he’d felt starting in the jail has firmly taken root in his chest; he tells Nott not to worry, that he knows some herbs and plants to look for that will help. She gives him a look, nods, agrees with him, then sneaks off in the night to who-knows-where. She’s back the next morning, and hands him a small bottle of medicine and a bag of crushed dried leaves she tells him is tea. As he’s staring stunned at the items she’s handed him, she also pulls out a packet of honeyed candy drops- for his throat, she says- and settles next to their small fire to eat as if nothing’s happened. He doesn’t know what to say, and so just says, “Thank you, Nott.”. It feels woefully inadequate for everything she’s done for him, but words never were his strong suit, especially now.

Once he’s feeling better they travel on. They don’t have a direction other than ‘away’, though where they’re going away from is different for each of them. Caleb just wants to get as far away from Rexxentrum and the Academy as he can. It’s been a number of years since he escaped the asylum, but he doesn’t know if Trent was looking for him in the weeks while he was at the jail without his necklace. Nott won’t say what she’s running from, and Caleb doesn’t press; he doesn’t want to talk about his past either, so they’re in mutual agreement to just ignore it. She says as long as they avoid Felderwin she doesn’t care where they go, so they travel on. They stop briefly in Deastock, where he acquires a diamond almost as big as his fist, and he can feel the arcane power just waiting to channel through it. He holds back, though. They’re trying to maintain a low profile, so while the weight of the diamond in his pocket is comforting, he’s not going to use it just because it would feel good.

As they head south through the outer edges of the Cyrengreen Forest, he’s very glad he has it. They’re almost to a larger town, Trostenwald, when they’re set upon by large dog-like creatures. He and Nott are victorious, though it’s a very close thing. By the time the last creature goes down, Caleb is barely standing; once it’s safe, his knees give out and he sits hard on the ground, the diamond falling from nerveless fingers. Nott rushes over, fussing at him, apologizing for not moving faster. He shakes his head, reassures her it’s okay.

“It’s fine, Nott, you were perfect.” He looks around at the fallen creatures. “You shot a lot of them, thank you.”

He winces as Nott’s hands pat over him, finding a large slash in his side from one of the creatures who’d gotten too close.

“Not enough of them, though,  _ look  _ at you-”

He catches her wrist as she moves to prod at the wound again. “You can’t be expected to shoot all of them,  _ spatz _ . You are only one girl with one crossbow.”

Nott scowls up at him, tugging her wrist free so she can dig in her bag, pulling out a potion bottle. “Yes, but I’m supposed to protect you. You’re  _ squishy _ , Caleb.” She shoves the bottle into his hands then goes back to digging in her bag. He watches a moment, then sighs before uncorking the bottle and drinking the potion inside. It tastes awful, but that’s balanced by the sudden decrease of pain in his side as the slash knits up.

“This is why I suggested going to Trostenwald. We are both pretty good at what we do, but we are still only the two of us.  Maybe we will find others who are also traveling and go with them for a while. There is safety in numbers.”

Nott pulls the bandages she’d been looking for out of her bag and starts wrapping them around a cut on her leg. “I don’t know, how many people are going to be as cool with having me in a group as you are? I wouldn’t blame them, goblins are awful.”

“I don’t think you’re awful.”

“Well of course  _ you  _ don’t, but you’re weird.”

Caleb shrugs. “That is true. But we should still try.” He pushes back to his feet with a groan, catching himself on a tree as he starts to list sideways. “We aren’t far from Trostenwald, I don’t think. We could still get there tonight and sleep on an actual bed, how does that sound?”

Nott finishes packing things back into her bag and stands, watching him warily. “Are you going to keel over dead if you try to make it all the way there tonight? We could just camp out here for now and then make it there tomorrow.”

“It’s only just dusk. I think I would like a real bed, if that’s alright with you; today has been a rough day.”

Trostenwald is bigger than anywhere they’ve been recently, but not the biggest town Caleb’s seen. They find a place to stay, the Nestled Nook Inn, and Caleb is thankful for some of Nott’s less-than-legal proclivities, because he pays for the room without really worrying about it. He’s exhausted, feels like death warmed over, but makes himself set his silver thread around the room before he’ll let himself rest. He won’t risk their safety just because he’s tired. When he’s done he doesn’t bother undressing before he collapses onto the bed where Nott has already curled up. She mutters something in her sleep, and he reaches a hand out blindly to pat her head. Tomorrow they’ll work on finding a group; he wasn’t lying when he said there was safety in numbers. He wants Nott to be safe. He wants her to have a group to look to if something happens to him. He wants a lot of things, some of which are counter to each other, but all of those things are things he’ll worry about later. For now, he will sleep, and he’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Schmiedefeuer_ \- forge fire  
>  _Sie definieren dich nicht, nur du definierst dich_ \- They don't define you, only you define you  
>  _spatz_ \- sparrow  
>  _Glühwürmchen_ \- glow worm/firefly  
>  _fräulein_ \- young lady
> 
> Also, yes, I know Caleb doesn't have Charm Person, he uses Suggestion in the game, but I'm taking creative liberty with his pre-stream magecraft because Charm Person doesn't require material components (just verbal and somatic) and Suggestion does (yes, I'm a D&D nerd. Deal with it). I'm of the opinion that Caleb was initially a higher level wizard than he is now, but that due to his madness and lack of practice, he lost levels over the time he was at the asylum. You can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands.  
> EDIT: This headcanon was confirmed as true by Liam in last night's Talks Machina (the first of 2019). I'm feeling pretty good right now :D
> 
> Also also, yes, I know the plan to escape the prison was supposedly his idea, not Nott's, but again...creative license. Deal with it.
> 
> Want to flail at me about our favorite trash wizard, ask questions, or just say hi? Come find my on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/)


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